


C'est la Guerre

by kosame



Series: Pas de Deux [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 19th Century, Drama, F/M, Genderswap, Historical, Marriage, Separations, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosame/pseuds/kosame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation in the darkest and most uncertain of times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C'est la Guerre

Denmark sat still as a statue behind her desk, staring at the sky out the window with a pensive expression on her face. That was how Norway found her when he came up to make sure she didn't work through the night again. "Dan," he called softly from the doorway.

It took her a moment to respond, as though she had to come back to herself from wherever far off place her mind had been. The tiny smile, too, was slow in coming. "Norge. Is it that late already?"

He looked pointedly at the candle on her desk, nearly burned down.

She stood, and as she did, the corners of her mouth slipped down. A few steps, and she stood in front of him, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder. Despite the fact that they were about the same size, she felt insubstantial in his arms as he returned the embrace. It was disconcerting. "Take me to bed?" she asked, sounding vulnerable, and he could not help but acquiesce.

Everyone knew the war was going poorly, but something must have happened, he thought as he carried the candle and escorted Denmark through the halls. Or be about to happen, he supposed. Denmark was in charge of coordinating their intelligence efforts, and she often knew things she wouldn't tell even him until they were finished. Either way, her fingers twisted in the fabric of his sleeve did not bode well for their fortunes on the battlefield.

Trusting her to confide in him in her own time, he focused on trying to comfort her. The blankness on her face was unnatural, and he was determined to kiss it away. Gradually, she did come out of her daze, pushing him down on their bed and running her fingers over every inch of him, despite the fact that it was impossible she did not already have his every nook and cranny memorized. They made love absent any sense of urgency, as though there were no armies on either side of them steadily trapping them in between, no inkling that this war might finally orchestrate the coda to their kingdoms' long fall from power. It was just the two of them, two people, in that moment.

Afterwards, she still clung to him as though he was her sole lifeline. Her head rested on his arm, forehead abutting his chest, again giving the illusion that she was somehow smaller than she actually was. He was not one to whisper blind assurances, and even if he was, he had no idea what to say, so he stroked her hair and waited.

After such a time as he thought she might have fallen asleep, she finally spoke. "Don't you wish you had a more proper wife? One who was demure and elegant and didn't argue with everything you said or parade around in breeches and waistcoats?"

The question caught him completely by surprise, and he floundered for an answer. "You're perfectly feminine, that you would ask me such an utterly frivolous question." When she didn't laugh or joke or even make a sarcastic comment of her own, he privately began to panic. What was she doing, changing the rules after so many years together? Did she actually expect a serious answer?

Norway knew Denmark had a complicated relationship with her femininity. He wasn't quite sure why it troubled her so; even warmongers like Prussia managed to balance their womanhood with the many battles they rode off to fight. Sweden, too, compromised neither aspect of herself. Yet Denmark had always had trouble fitting, and it had only gotten worse in recent years. She'd spurned dresses nearly entirely when the fashion turned to squeezing one's waist as tight as it would go and then squeezing it a little more, but she hadn't returned to them now that they'd become sensible again. Yet, he knew she had some folk dresses she treasured, but she rarely had occasion to wear them; he still hadn't had a chance to see her in the one he'd brought from his last trip to his homeland. What was most puzzling, however, was the fact that she still kept her hair up and covered, wedding ring prominently displayed on a gold chain around her neck. If she intended to dress like a man, why insist on such obvious affects of femininity? He straddled the line between the sexes as well, not least because of his relationship to her, but his battles seemed less numerous and less exhausting.

"I won't say I've never wondered what you would look like in a fashionable gown, or hoped you'd grow your hair out even a little," he started, and she made a strange noise, muffled but unhappy. _Listen until the end_ , he mentally scolded before continuing. "But what does it matter to me if you prefer breeches? I have of course wished on many occasions that you might come to appreciate the value of silence, but to wish that you were to become quiet and obedient would be to wish your soul away. Stop talking nonsense."

"Norge." She looked up at him, finally, and managed a watery smile. "I wish I could have been better for you."

Confusion becoming more acute, he frowned and replied, "Well, start tomorrow if you want to so badly."

"Can't," she said, letting go of him and rolling away onto her back, exhaling in an audible rush. "I had your things packed."

Lifting his head up, he noticed two suitcases he'd missed when they'd come in sitting beside the door. "Why?" he asked, valiantly trying to keep his temper.

"You're leaving for Christiania tomorrow."

"With the children." He'd suspected for some time she'd try to force him to flee to safety with Iceland and other little ones, and already had a dozen arguments ready as to why they didn't need him as a chaperon.

"No, just you."

The statement made no sense whatsoever, and he wondered if he'd misheard. He leaned over her, letting the mixture of anger and befuddlement on his face communicate in place of words.

"I need you to take a letter to dear Christian Frederik."

"A letter?" he repeated incredulously. Surely there were other ways for Denmark to communicate with the crown prince than by sending him.

"It's vitally important. Please."

There was still something she wasn't telling him, he could see it in her eyes. That this information could be so valuable that she would entrust it only to him made his blood run cold. It explained her strange melancholy. Carrying such a missive would be dangerous in the extreme, and she never had been able to bear the thought of him in danger. His lips quirked in a grim smile, and he kissed her forehead. _Don't worry_.

Exhaustion finally caught up with him then, but it seemed Denmark was just the same. He pulled her close again and drifted off to sleep.

***

The sun was setting as Norway presented the large envelope to Prince Christian Frederik. It had turned out to be a rather thick sheaf of papers, a smaller, folded letter with Denmark's personal seal on top. He let his mind wander while the prince broke the wax and read whatever she'd had to tell him. It was good to be home again, the feeling of reuniting with his own land making his blood sing, and it was no effort to revel in it while he was waiting.

"It won't be easy," the prince finally said, flipping through the stack of intelligence reports and giving each page a cursory glance. "And it will take a lot of planing to be sure, but I think we just might be able to pull it off. I'll be relying on your help."

Again, the feeling of cognitive dissonance struck him, as though it had been with him since he'd left Copenhagen. "Pull what off, Your Highness?"

The prince's hand stilled in the papers, and he looked shocked that Norway would ask such a thing. "You haven't heard? She didn't tell you?"

"No, Sir." It was humiliating to be ignorant in front of his prince like this, but he would have to take it up with Denmark, so he kept his expression neutral.

Curiously, the prince hesitated, as though he didn't want to say himself. His eyes fell to Denmark's letter, and after a moment he handed it to Norway without a word. Skimming through the pleasantries, he searched for the meat of the body, eyes stopping when he found reference to himself.

 _My husband is an intelligent, brave man, my prince. I often dwell on how I do not deserve a companion so good as he is and thank the Lord Almighty regularly for bestowing upon me the blessing of his company these many years. There is no doubt in my mind he will prove a most capable and valuable servant to you in what lies before you._

 _He does not wish me to know it, but he holds in his heart an aspiration that I have always been an obstacle to achieving, which is why I send him to you now with no question of the strength of conviction he will bring to your cause. Indeed, it is his cause, one he has kept alive even through centuries shackled to my side. I want to release him from those bonds, and I offer you my full personal support, whatever that may turn out to be worth. For do you not agree, my prince, that it is time for Norway to seize his freedom?_

His ears were ringing as he stared at the words, not quite believing what they said no matter how many times he read them.

"Well?" The prince's question knocked him out of his frenzied thoughts. "Do you have the stomach for it?"

"Yes," he answered without a moment's hesitation. His brain caught up to his gut a moment later, doubts niggling in the back of his mind, but he dismissed as best he could.

"Good, because we have a lot of work to do." The prince offered him an ironic smile.

"...May I...?" he trailed off, not sure how to ask for a letter not even addressed to him. The prince seemed to understand, nevertheless, and gestured for him to keep it. Carefully, he folded it and tucked it into his inner pocket to examine in greater detail later. Right now, he had independence to win.

**Author's Note:**

> Denmark-Norway was drawn into the Napoleonic Wars against their will and proceeded to be beaten down by Sweden (who joined the war specially for the privilege of beating them, it seems) and England. The resulting treaty in 1814 ceded Norway to Sweden in exchange for being spared an invasion of Jutland. The crown prince of Denmark, who had been sent to Norway to soothe the nerves of Norwegian nobles upset about Denmark allying them with France, decided to ignore the orders of his father to comply with the treaty and instead agitate for Norwegian independence. It didn't work, per se, but it gave Norway its constitution and rising sense of nationalism that it would carry into the union with Sweden and ultimately to its independence in 1905.


End file.
